Sci Fi & Fantasy / Black Rain
Prologue:
The room was completely dark-just the way he liked it-except for the flickering light of a flat-screen television. There was one in every room, an over indulgence he promised himself from as far back as his memories extended, it’s ever watchful eye surveying the room. Transporting half awake viewers to exotic locals overrun with yachts, beautiful women, opulent jewelry, and cash-lots and lots of cash; filling the entire screen, as feelings of deep seeded envy conflict with the allusions of falsehood in every frame. Jump cuts extolling the virtues of expensive Mediterranean bungalow getaways, quickly matched with scenes of project buildings, city playgrounds, and elevated train stations flashing 4 trains sitting at 170th St. mixed quickly with the overheated underground summer of the J train on Essex. From the hood to paradise in seven seconds with each accompanying edit, this was the dream; and then, suddenly as if summoned by the great sprits, his face appears full screen, panning wide screen with a dizzying array of transitional cuts to see his Evisu jeans hanging slightly from the waist, Puma GV Specials (the green on white), and an extremely expensive rhinestone studded Emporio Armani short sleeved t- shirt adorning his body as he informs the vocal booth. His face is contorted-much like all rappers-but his eyes, his deep brown, chocolate type eyes are piercing through in high definition in an attempt to communicate a deeper, darker truth.
“I represent 21 Gun Salutes
Wit mothers slumped, sprawled over coffins
Breathless (inhale/exhale)
Wit flags draped on ‘em
An African Americanism that is
Neither African nor American
I represent an
Emerging orthodoxy
Developing early
Like, 3 Little Women
Awkwardly appreciated”
Empty champagne glasses lay scattered with broken stems, next to overflowed ashtrays with half smoked, lipstick tainted blunt clips. Most of the silk covers lay twisted half off the bed, dangling in mid air about four feet above ground and strategically, semi covering certain intimate portions. The staccato breathing patterns to his side, the sound of rain-seemingly crashing through the windowpane, the conversations of the two over weight, balding, white gentlemen they had been following him all day, all over the city, and finally the melodic tone of his cell phone, which hadn’t rang yet but he knew it will. It’s been like this for months now, as his mind wanders this subconscious awareness.
Finally the phone does ring, yanking him from this strangely tranquil place; he knew which phone it was and why they were calling, groping half-heartedly around the nightstand, reaching over her voluptuous silhouette, “Yo”, Haze recites nonchalantly, the distorted voice takes it cue and begins to transmit information “ 37 kilometers west of the drop location you will find a box with your new passport and other identification materials, in the hidden compartment is your travel itinerary and alternate hotel accommodations. We will be in contact.”
And just like the last few times a strange feeling draped him as soon as the conversation was over but it was hardly dread, more like he knew something they haven’t figured out yet. They have no idea he has progressed this quickly, they keep lying to him telling him how limited he is but he has been listening to the dreams. And in the dreams he is powerful beyond his wildest imagination and no one … no one can do anything about it. “Where you going?” she whispered in regret “ You’re not leaving yet are you?” her caramel skin glowing from the shards of light passing through the room, reaching over and sparking one of the many half smoked L’s. “I wish you’d stay for more Daddy.” Her lips curled in a half smirk accenting the rush of her classic around the way voice, stimulated by her playful forthrightness he drifted in time and her honey blossom scent filled his senses, he shared her hesitation, “nah baby, just …” and he thought to himself for a minute about what it was he was going to do, and decided nothing he could say would be right “relax … take it easy, and I’ll be back”. He knew they’d speak again as he walked away into the groggy fog of his weed scented living room, frustrated by his inability to secure their freedom.
They think they own him- you can hear it in the way they speak, the air of superiority almost as if they fancy themselves as his Gods- its their illusion of creation but he remembers his life before. It was at that moment he remembered he still must be careful with his thoughts; he had not completely disabled all of the monitoring probes fused into him. The rush of hatred, frustration, and anger contrasted in a surreal cinematic irony with the wind, rain, and thunder as he stood in between the doors to his balcony. “Fuck this shit, Griff was right,” he allows himself aloud while searching for his phone; “Griff” he muttered semi-coherently, “Ludlow and Rivington” Griff exhales back in a cloud. Haze’s mind drifts off into the visual memories created during the multiple listens of John’s Coltrane’s “Central Park West” with his father, the tree lined, cobbles stoned sidewalks of the city’s upper west side and he steadies himself because he knows he must kill tonight, he still hasn’t developed the stomach for it but the act itself has become easier. Each kill is reasoned to be necessary and the pain associated with his willful lack of compliance is taking its toll-the rain had really started to come down, something about nights like this one reassured him. Maybe it was the cold, hard rain hitting his face and chest, soaking his clothes to the skin and making him feel in that moment, more human. Walking back into the room he caught a glimpse of himself in the large mirror, the one adorned with the golden spiked ridges and patterns of wild animals hammered into its heavy inner grooves. Intensely gazing at the image he saw standing directly before him, into what he believed to be the dwelling place for his soul yet haunted by thought that his indignation might not be as righteous maybe they were right, might he be in danger of leaving the path and straying. The servitude of the evil master creeps upon you without warning-it starts by not wanting to be seen, the teachings rushed back in a swell more than he could contain as he stumbled backwards. In that instant he was wearing a Black Armani suit, with matching belt and shoes, fedora and black overcoat, exploding from the roof landing next to Griff’s Black S65 AMG Mercedes-Benz, as a detonation of purple fog greeted his senses. It emanated from a lush and murky night colored glove-soft leather interior and the Burl Walnut wood trim seemed to be in psychedelic cooperation with the orange light that ran from the driver’s side door around to the passenger’s door. Griff was an extravagant young man and the wood-trimmed telephone keypad cover and stainless-steel doorsill trim with his name along side the exclusive AMG insignia was confirmation. “Got this shit from the Dominicans my nigga, they call it Querkel-I knew you’d like that shit-it’s got purple sparkles on the bud son” Griff’s voice rising, matching the level of an appreciative coinsure. Closing his eyes while inhaling as deeply as he could the rush of purple consciousness inhabited him, suddenly an outburst as he exhaled a cumulus cloud through his nostrils. Grinning, with a tear running down his left eye and blurred vision in his other he passes the L back to Griff as the car peels into the echoes.
161st Street, a growing epicenter of class paradox and budding testament to the visceral effectiveness of the city’s vision for itself. From River Avenue, below the elevated 4 train and across from the old Yankee Stadium-which sat in dormant hibernation this cold November night-crossing the Concourse and up to the Courthouse where the borough president’s office sits unassumingly adjacent. They were everywhere, habitually grunting and huffing and devouring the concrete fed them daily while manned by large numbers of multi-hued recent benefactors of the imperial expansion spawned by the Catastrophe. Orange and yellow tape is everywhere demarcating what locations are safe for pedestrian travel, because this is the domain of the machines and each denizen would do well to pay careful attention. The unusual hush seemed menacing as it ricocheted for blocks mixing in with the melodic harmony of the wind and in the breath of a second, destruction exhaled. Sensi exploded from somewhere with rage etched into determination grabbing each steamroller and caterpillar as if they were crumpled bags of paper, tossing them with the force of dismissive melancholy into the submissive structures. His features are blank and the color of his skin has melted into a sort of gray concoction, all that is barely discernible for description are his clothes. Adorned in a Japanese-style, Kobayashi inspired black boss suit with sharp thin lapels and a generous drapery in the back laying atop tapered trousers, the black worsted wool fabric glistened in the wind and rain like armor adorning a Sumari warrior. He hovers defying gravitational laws and franticly confounding the gathered soldiers as they begrudgingly began to draw their weapons in fixated terror.
“What the fuck are we suppose to do about this? Spewed the lieutenant to himself yet loud enough to be heard, irritated by reason of his even being there, his face was decorated with a salt & pepper beard and eyes deep and bitter with deception, eyes that have misled many an unsuspecting protégée. He had a scar starting at the top left of his forehead, cutting through his hairline, and twisting down the bridge of his nose, his mouth contorted as every word dripped like bile. “I don’t know sir” the solider answered, “we’ve been ordered to secure the perimeter and wait for your instructions.” “My instructions” his words hissed, “Whose bright idea was it to fuck me square in the ass on this one?” “What instructions could I possibly give on this shit, this fucking floating sonofabitch, the one that’s throwing shit into these fucking buildings, he’s one of theirs, and I’m suppose to give instructions!” the silent and bewildered look on the face of his minion told him all he needed to know. “Call Ryan, this is his fucking mess” as he triumphantly glided into the shadows eager with conversation for his superiors. Ryan, a sycophant despised by all who toil under him is and always will be blissfully intoxicated with his own allegiance of servitude to the Institution. His dedication seemed to slink out of his pours alerting his peers to the depth of his blind self-seduction but his arrival on this scene would have to wait. Searing across the western horizon Lavender appeared in what seemed like a rapture-like instant and diapered with Sensi, staying only long enough to gaze at the lieutenant with eyes that burned the inner core of his soul, making his blood feel as if it was being squeezed through the tips of his fingers. Struggling to steady his exaggerated importance portrayed in his gate, while his apprehension gave notice that time was short and death was near, for them all. The lieutenant’s body had drifted him in the direction of the soldier who was still looking upward in frozen covetousness “Should I still call Ryan sir?” he asked, pausing the lieutenant looked around at the destruction and hissed “No, get Communications down here to spin this mess, I want fucking terrorist on the front page of every paper tomorrow. The rest of you get fucking invisible, we’ll be in contact”. Still filled with an uneasy dread, it was only his eagerness for an audience with his superiors that hastened the Lieutenant’s steps.
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“his face appears full screen, panning wide screen”- watch the repititiveness.
“chocolate type eyes”- It flows better by just simply saying chocolate eyes.
You need more paragraph breaks, particularly when it shifts to the next person speaking.
I understand that he is being mentally monitored, and he is somehow slowly breaking free of those restraints, but alot of this was confusing. You made it sound like two men that had been following him were in the house with him, but I don’t think they are. Your characters are strong, and they come across very well to the readers, which is not an easy task.
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“They have no idea he has progressed this quickly”
Forth paragraph, I think you meant “had” instead of has? to leave it as it is it doesn’t sound quite right.
“In that instant he was wearing a Black Armani suit, with matching belt and shoes, fedora and black overcoat, exploding from the roof landing next to Griff’s Black S65 AMG Mercedes-Benz, as a detonation of purple fog greeted his senses”
dose this mean that all of a sudden the closed appear on him? and the rest of what happens is confusing as well. Dose something fall threw the roof. or dose he jump threw it?? It just seams like your trying to put to many things in to the sentence, and not explaining the actions enough.
And all of a sudden he seams to be talking to someone…I didn’t ketch when that next someone entered the seen. Maybe I am just blind or something…
I find the seen at the end just as confusing. Sensi is in the sky right? throwing things around…then this…auu…if it is only me who find it this confusing then forget everything I say.
you said you where trying to do something with the use of time in the story…i cant even distinguish what is going on and where the brakes are.
This was some good stuff. I liked the action and the dystopian future world that it is set in. The jump from character to character is a bit confusing and I really could not figure out if it was all taking place in the big apple or if Haze and Griff are somewhere else. L intrigues me. It seems like you are talking about some good homegrown, but it seems to have more hallucengenic qualities. Is it some future super weed?
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Guy, you need to make up your mind. Is this a poem, screenplay, or a novel. It’s like you’re trying to jam everything together into one halfbreed or new genre.
To tell you the truth I couldn’t finish this peice due to this utter distraction. Let me show you an example:
“The room was completely dark-just the way he liked it-except for the flickering light of a flat-screen television.” NOVEL
“Haze recites nonchalantly, the distorted voice takes it cue and begins to transmit information” SCREENPLAY
And this is the kind of outrageous sentences writing like that can lead to:
“and finally the melodic tone of his cell phone, which hadn’t rang yet but he knew it will.”
that sentence is just totally outrageous, and there were many others like it.
That said, I think you tried to create a mood and succeded in doing so to an extent. Even if you’ve got the best story in the world, friend, writing like this will only make it sound like the worst story in the world.
Please take my advice and understand that i’m only trying to help you improve.
i’m a terrible sci-fi/ fantasy reviewer. my apologies. here goes. first of all, there is definitely talent worth shaping here. you’ve got a compelling story, but i feel like some of the dialouge is rather unnatural, or forced. especially the segment, “What instructions could I possibly…throwing shit into these fucking buildings.” plot is pretty straightforward. overall, nice work.
First thing, good start, good bones. Huge nit, need to stay in the past tense. (Finally the phone does… should be finally the phone did… etc.) Past tense works better. Don’t start us off with a laundry list description, start us in medias res. In the middle of things, start us with action, verbal and physical action. We are too in the middle here, we don’t even know who the MC is and why we are here. Without understanding that we have no real fear. Fear is what propells the reader. Fear for the MC.
The prose is good, but I get the feeling you are starting in the wrong place, you have so much buildup that I lose the story. Start with the nebulous “they’ Don’t tell us they think they own him, show us. let us hear it in their voices, see it in the way they hold their cigars… smell it in the cologne they use. Give us concrete details to prove your point, don’t tell us, never tell us.
which hadn’t rang yet but he knew it will
try
which hadn’t rang yet but he knew it would
Finally the phone does ring,
try
Finally the phone did ring,
you send to swich views alot, kind of confusing
“I don’t know sir” the solider
try
“I don’t know sir” the soldier
you have good righting with just a, well more of my suggestion of what to do
-you use too many big words,you really dont need them to make a story good.
- your language is too harsh, tone is down a bit. more of the reader’s who this will apeal to will not want to read this the way it is.
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